Poem

Poem There once lived a young boy named Poem, who didn’t quite know how to rhyme, who fancied the fields and the flowers, his mom felt he’d sing of in time. Young Poem liked rowing and painting, and took well to Latin and Greek, Yet, for all that he grew, both in mind and in…

The Flutist

Ambrosial seeds that sprouted song entice the plum-pursed lips gripping for the galaxies confined to sullen sips.   A cup-eared chorus hollers back to smooth the clods of clay molded by the penchant of the potters who will play.   A honey-suckle sound escapes, to which the bees reply, “Had only we a gentry cup…